


Maybe the World'll Look Like This Forever

by muchmorethanaprincess



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hogwarts AU, Wizarding World AU, pining!clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-17 22:35:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7288774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muchmorethanaprincess/pseuds/muchmorethanaprincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hogwarts/wizarding world au</p><p>Clarke and Bellamy have been friends since he transferred to Hogwarts for his seventh year. Now he's taking down dark wizards and she's patching him up when he comes home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe the World'll Look Like This Forever

Clarke is fifteen when Bellamy and Octavia start at Hogwarts after moving to Britain from the Philippines. It’s not totally unheard of to have students transfer in the middle of their magical education, but they have to get sorted into their houses with the first years, so there’s a bit of a fuss about them.

Bellamy, seventeen, a few inches short of six feet, stands awkwardly amongst the eleven-year-olds around him, more out of place than his younger sister, who’s just a second year.

His name gets called after only a few timid kids are sorted, the hat placed on his head, and after a moment, he’s a Hufflepuff. He doesn’t seem to have any particular emotions about this, just walks to the Hufflepuff table, which is cheering politely, and sits down with an empty space beside him.

Octavia is called up immediately after, and the hat has barely touched her head when it yells, “Slytherin!”

Amidst the cheering and clapping from her own table, welcoming their newest house member, Clarke is the only one who catches sight of Octavia’s brother, trying to conceal an almost-panicked expression.

She sees him run after Octavia when the feast is over, and they’re heading back to their common rooms. He tugs her aside and says something, and Octavia pulls her arm out of his grasp and turns to strut away impatiently. He visibly deflates, and Clarke reminds herself that, curious as she is, it’s none of her business. Still, she accidently catches his eye just before she rejoins the crowd, and nods awkwardly to break the contact.

 

She doesn’t see him again until a few days later, when she has her first potions lesson. Bellamy’s there, but alone at a table in the front corner, right next to the professor’s desk, looking uncomfortable as he works over a cauldron while the fifth year Slytherins and Gryffindors shuffle in and find seats and partners.

“What do you think he’s doing here?” Raven whispers to her as they take their usual table.

“Do you mean what’s he doing in our potions class, or what he and his sister are doing in the country?” Clarke responds.

“Class, but that too.”

“Who knows, maybe you should ask him yourself if you’re so interested,” Clarke says, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, you’re no fun,” Raven mumbles, and then Professor Nyko calls the class to order and explains that Bellamy is having private lessons from him to catch up on certain British aspects of his potions education that he missed in the Philippines.

When she and Raven are walking out of the room after the lesson, filled with praise for making the most successful Pepperup Potion in the class, she feels a hand on her arm, gently pulling her aside in the dungeon hallway.

“What’s—” she starts, cutting off when she looks back to see that the hand belongs to Bellamy. “Oh, uh.”

“You’re in Slytherin, right?” he asks brusquely.

She looks down at her clothing, clearly sporting her house’s green and silver.

“Right, sorry,” he mumbles, running his hand over his face like he’s stressed. “I just—can you look out for my sister? She’s young, and impressionable, and I’m worried about her being in Slytherin by herself.”

Clarke’s eyebrows draw together as she looks up at him. “Impressionable?” she says slowly. “Being in Slytherin by herself? What, are you scared we’re gonna indoctrinate her into the dark arts in her first week?” She lowers her voice like she’s telling a secret, “we usually wait at least a month for that.”

Bellamy does not look amused. “That’s not what I—”

“Oh please! Tell me what you meant. Tell me how you think Slytherin is full of evil, bad people who are going to corrupt your sister.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Bellamy says, almost raising his voice and then looking around at the now empty hallway cautiously. “You’re a Slytherin, and I asked you to look out for her, didn’t I? Why would I do that if I thought you’re all evil?”

It stumps Clarke for a moment, and she crosses her arms across her chest defensively.

“I don’t care about houses, I hardly even know anything about my own. I didn’t care where we ended up, I just thought we’d end up there _together_.”

Clarke softens. He’s just a big brother worried that he can’t keep an eye on his sister.

“I mean, most family members end up in the same house, right?”

“Not necessarily,” she says, thinking of her Gryffindor parents.

“Well I, I thought we’d be in the same house. I thought I’d be able to look after her that way, because she’s sort of decided that she’s too independent to tolerate my hovering anymore. So now I have no way to do that, because she’s doing everything she can to avoid her extremely uncool older brother, even when I’m just trying to ask if she’s okay.”

Clarke takes a deep breath.

“I will look out for her.” Bellamy’s face lightens considerably at this. “But!” she cuts in, “I am not giving you like, weekly updates or anything weird like that. I’ll let her know that I’m available to talk if she needs help with anything, and I’ll let you know if she seems to be getting into trouble too big for her. Okay?”

“Okay. Thank you so much.”

“Yeah, no problem. Now I’ve gotta run to Defense or Pike’s gonna use me as the class example,” she says, and hurries away, leaving Bellamy staring after her.

 

After that, they nod to each other when they pass in the hallways, and Raven joins Clarke in “looking after” Octavia, which mostly just consists of asking her how she is and her responding with, “I’m great!” before running after whatever new friend she’s with.

They see Bellamy again a couple weeks later, when he approaches the Slytherin table during breakfast, and they hear Octavia say, “I swear to God, Bellamy, if you—” before he can even reach her.

Clarke cuts her off quickly. “He’s not sitting with you, Octavia, he’s sitting with us,” she says, waving to the empty spot across from her and Raven, next to Wells, who’s also visiting them from the Hufflepuff table.

Bellamy looks relieved at her save and joins them quickly.

“Thanks, Octavia’s really, well…”

“What’d you do?” Raven asks, not bothering for tact.

“Tried to convince her not to go out for the Quidditch team. There’s no chance either of you could help, is there?”

Raven snorts. “Not likely.”

Bellamy looks confused until Clarke explains. “We’re both on the team. Raven’s the captain, actually.”

“Yeah and if your sister’s any good, I’m not sparing your feelings, I’m putting her on the team.”

Bellamy sighs longsufferingly. “Jesus.”

“Oh come on, give her a little freedom, Blake. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Maybe he’s worried about her getting hurt like you did last year,” says a pointed voice, and they all look to Wells, who’s staring at Raven intensely.

“That was nothing.” She waves her hand like she’s swatting the idea away.

But Bellamy is looking from face to face questioningly until Clarke pipes up.

“She took a bad fall, and her leg has permanent damage. She wears a magical brace now, and we’re all just very grateful that it wasn’t her beautiful, brilliant head she landed on.”

“Awww,” Raven coos.

But Bellamy is still looking at each of them in turn, his face incredulous. “So clearly, I’m right to not want Octavia on the Quidditch team?”

Clarke shakes her head. “You can’t stop her, that’ll only make her hate you. And you really don’t have any actual authority to keep her from the team anyway. Raven got hurt because she plays harder than anyone else on the team, and her pride got in the way and made her stupid.”

Raven pipes up to defend herself, but the glares from Clarke and Wells stop her.

“Octavia will be fine if she makes the team. We’ll be there.”

Bellamy lets that settle it, and Wells brings up house news to get him talking about something else, and breakfast slides by easily with the four of them chatting.

 

Octavia does make the team, as a beater, and Bellamy comes to some of their practices. Octavia gets mad about it during the first one, but Clarke just waltzes by her and says, “maybe it’s not for you,” waving up at Bellamy in the stands and sending him a wink.

It throws Octavia off for nearly half the practice, and when Bellamy asks Clarke what was going on, she tells him that she merely _suggested_ that Bellamy might have been more interested in watching her play than his sister. For, you know, _certain_ reasons.

He laughs, and thanks her for it, and they both act like the subtle flirting was just for Octavia.  

 

They hang out again during the first Hogsmeade trip of the year, because Bellamy wants to spend time with Octavia, but she brushes him off. He looks kind of lonely and out of place, wandering around by himself, so Clarke drags him into Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes where Raven and Wells and the rest of their friends are waiting. They introduce him to Jasper and Harper, from Gryffindor, and Harper’s boyfriend Monty, from Ravenclaw, and their friend Miller from Slytherin.

They wander the shops for a while, then stop in at the Three Broomsticks for butterbeer.

When they’re all settled at a table, Harper finally says, “So, what’s your story?” to Bellamy, and they all quiet down to see how he’ll respond.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I don't know, tell us about your life, or yourself, or whatever. Why’d you and your sister leave the Philippines, what’s your family like, all that good stuff.”

“Well, we were both born in London, that’s where our mum’s from. My dad died when I was two, she met O’s dad a year later. Had O when I was five, things were alright for a while but then her dad left, and mum sort of fell apart. Couldn't handle us on her own, and shipped us to my grandparents, my dad’s parents, when I was nine. So we were there, went to the wizarding school in the Philippines, and my grandparents were wonderful. But my granddad died a few years ago, and grandmum died this summer, so. Back to England.”

“Is your mum alright now?” Clarke asks.

Bellamy shrugs, revealing just a hint of discomfort in his stiff shoulders.

“Better now that we’re older, anyway. And she only has to deal with us during summer, because of school, so. It’s alright.”

Clarke stares at him for a moment. It makes sense, that he cares so much, worries so much over Octavia, since their mother didn't, or couldn't. She knew he was more than just an overbearing older brother, but still, it’s nice to see the whole picture.

“But that’s enough from me, I don't know any of your stories,” he says pointedly, looking around the table.

Everyone obliges, explaining where they grew up, what their families are like, talking about older siblings and where they want to go when they finish Hogwarts.

When Clarke’s the only one who hasn't spoken, Bellamy nudges her.

“So?” he questions. Everyone else grows quiet, knowing enough to not ask themselves, but not enough to resist their curiosity.

Clarke doesn't normally talk about it much—Raven and Wells know more than anyone, but that’s only because sometimes she can't hold it in any longer—but she looks up at Bellamy’s face, and he seems like he’d understand. Like it would make her feel _more_ comfortable around him, not less.

“Well, uh, my mom is a pureblood, from this distinguished line of wealthy wizards, with a big estate in the country, the whole deal. Everyone was shocked when she married a muggleborn, but she was a Gryffindor, so. The trademark recklessness and all that.” She shrugs awkwardly. “Dad grew up in London, had a pretty normal life except for the whole being a wizard thing. When I was ten, he found out that my mom was involved in… I don’t know really. Dark magic, some kind of genetic testing, this secret organization,” she waves her hand awkwardly, “I don’t know, it’s all been very hushed up since it came out and I didn’t really want all the details. Anyway, Dad found out what was going on, and a couple weeks later he was dead.”

Bellamy chokes on his butterbeer.

“What?”

Clarke shrugs.

“Are you telling me your mother killed your dad?”

“No, no! It wasn’t my mum, it was someone else in the organization. But it is still my her fault, because it would never have happened if she wasn’t involved with it.”

Bellamy nods, somber.

“Clarke only sees her mum during summer, and they haven’t had a real conversation since it happened,” Wells chimes in, leaning over the table.

“Does that mean you’re staying for Christmas?” Bellamy asks.

Clarke nods.

“Us too,” he says. “Cheers.”

She raises her glass to clink against his.

“Cheers.”

 

They carry on like this for the rest of the year, easy friends. Bellamy gets on well with almost everyone, when he can be arsed to bother.

Christmas isn’t lonely, with Bellamy and Wells and Raven and Clarke all staying in the castle, and Hogsmeade trips always involve him now. He gets on really well with Miller, who’s also a seventh year, and they make plans to rent a flat together once they graduate.

He’s glad that Clarke brought him into her little group.

 

“What are you gonna do once you graduate?” Clarke asks him in the library, while she studies for her O.W.L.s and and he prepares for his N.E.W.T.s. Harper was with them earlier, but she left an hour ago. No one can match Clarke and Bellamy’s focus in the library besides Raven.

“You mean for work?” he asks, not looking up from his Transfiguration textbook.

“Yeah, I guess.”

He pauses. “I was sort of thinking about becoming an Auror.”

“Really?” Clarke asks, loud and excitedly enough that she gets shushed from a nearby table. Bellamy laughs a little at her reaction.

“Yeah, it’s an option. Professor Pike says my defense’s good enough. What’s your deal?”

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head, but she’s smiling. “Just, my dad was an Auror.”

“Oh.”

“I never mentioned it?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Well anyway, he loved it. I wish you could meet him, he would’ve liked you.”

Bellamy doesn’t know why that makes him blush.

“Well what are you going to do after Hogwarts?”

“Oh, I’m going to be a healer,” she declares, like she’s known it forever. Which, she probably has, because that’s the kind of person Clarke is.

“Well, then you can patch me up after I take down dark wizards.”

She tilts her head, smiling at him coyly.

“I’ll see you in St. Mungo’s.”

 

“Merlin, Bellamy. Could you maybe, _try_ not to get injured? Just a thought,” she says, irritation and fondness in her voice as she puts pressure on his magical head-wound, and tries a new spell to make it mend. It doesn’t budge, same as the last five.

“Nope,” he answers, swinging his legs back and forth from the edge of the hospital bed he’s sitting on. “That’s too much effort when there are so many bad guys to catch.”

“You won’t be able to catch them if you’re dead,” she grumbles.

This is a pretty regular routine for them. Bellamy goes on an expedition to catch a new dark witch or wizard, and Clarke mends his injuries when he gets home. When it’s minor scrapes and bumps, he really doesn’t need her, but he shows up at her little London flat anyway, to tell her about the trip (well, as much as he’s allowed to tell her, with the Ministry’s disclosure laws). When his injuries are serious, like now, he sees her at St. Mungo’s.

She always tells him to be more careful with his life. He always brushes her off and tells her to stop worrying. But he likes that she cares.

Bellamy started Auror training after graduating from Hogwarts, and while Clarke missed him in the castle, weekly letters and visits during Hogsmeade trips for the next two years kept them close. Then she had graduated, and was training to be a healer while Bellamy and Miller finished their last year.

It’s been a few years now, and Clarke likes their friendship as much as ever. She just sort of wishes there was making out involved. And cuddling. Because he’s her favorite person in the entire world, and she needs more ways to express that to him.

Neither of them has had a relationship in a while, since Clarke and Lexa went down in flames, so she’s starting to get hopeful again, the way she has ever since she graduated and figured the two year age difference was no longer a big deal, whenever they’re both single at the same time. But every time, nothing happens.

“Fuck, finally,” she murmurs, when her last incantation works, and he stops bleeding, his skin seaming back together gently.

“You know if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were getting injured just to see me.”

“Well, that’s very bold of you, Ms. Griffin,” he says, grinning.

“Anyway, as your healer,” she says while she cleans the blood off his forehead, “I recommend you take it easy for about a week to recover. As your friend,” he smirks up at her, knowing what’s coming, “I know you’re going to be an idiot and not listen.”

“No, but how about I come over tomorrow night for a movie, and you can check on me then?”

She rolls her eyes, but agrees. He’s been so busy with work lately that they haven’t had much time to just hang out.

“I’ve gotta go find Miller and get the paperwork done, I’ll see you then.”

He grabs his jacket and makes to leave, but pauses and swoops down quickly to kiss her cheek.

“Thanks for patching me up!” he calls as he strolls out the door.

Clarke barely stutters out, “Anytime,” before he’s too far away to hear it, cursing herself for sounding like an idiot and touching her cheek where his lips just were. _That’s new_.

 

When he shows up at her flat the next night, he’s got a shiny, dark bruise on his cheekbone.

“Who the fuck did you chase down today?” she asks, but he doesn’t smile.

She sees his jaw clench, and pulls him inside.

“It’s nothing,” he murmurs, which is not like his usual attitude about work related injuries at all.

“Clearly,” she says, sarcasm thick. “Sit down and I’ll get some of my salve for it.”

“It’s fine, Clarke,” he calls after her, but she’s already in the kitchen rummaging around.

“Aha! I got it. A quick charm, some of this handy salve and it will be gone tomorrow.”

She pushes at his shoulder until he sits on her couch, and hovers over him, muttering a charm that immediately makes the pain and swelling stop—she can hear his sigh of relief despite his protests. Then she uses her fingertips to gently apply the potion that will make the bruise disappear. He pushes into her hand a little, like a cat asking for attention, so she lets her other hand move to his hair, carding through it softly.

“If this was from a dark witch or wizard, you’d be telling me all about it, regaling me with the tale, even if you hadn’t caught them yet. So who did this?” she asks.

He swallows. “Octavia.”

Her hand clenches in his hair and he yelps quietly.

“Oh God, sorry!” she says, smoothing over the spot with her fingers. “Sorry! But… what? Octavia hit you?”

He nods. “You know the wizard we caught yesterday? It was her new boyfriend Dax. She thinks I did it on purpose, because I warned her when they started dating that I felt weird about him. She thought it was just overprotective big brother shit, you know? But he’s older than I am, and it wasn’t just that, he _feels_ creepy, right?”

Clarke nods. She met Dax once, when she ran into him and Octavia in Diagon Alley a month ago. He was unsettling, to say the least, and while her instincts about dark magic are good, Bellamy’s are much sharper.

“She thinks that I—well I don’t know if she really thinks it, or she’s just looking for someone to be angry at besides herself, but she accused me of… of planting the evidence. Which is not even _possible_ , with what we found, it was more than just artifacts, and his wand—” he cuts off, flustered.

She pets at his hair again. “So you fought, and she hit you?”

“Yeah, someone else broke the news to her, so when I showed up she just. Dug into me, yelling, and I was trying to just let her get it out so we could talk and I could tell her what happened, but she punched me, and I threw up a shield charm and got out of there before she could do anything else. Guess maybe I’m lucky she decided to fight with her fists instead of her wand.”

Clarke doesn’t know what to say.

“God, I just—I just wanted to tell her what happened, so she’d understand? I wanted to comfort her, because I knew how upset she would be.”

Clarke holds his face, her thumbs stroking over his cheekbones. The bruise is already starting to fade.

“Bellamy, you know that this, that—” she falters.

“I know that this isn’t okay, Clarke. I know.” His voice is heavy.

“Okay. Okay.”

She leans forward and pushes her face into his hair, because she doesn’t know what else to do. Not looking at him helps her find more words.

“God, I’m so sorry. She’s such a shitty sister. I’ve never said it before because I know you love her and I was respecting that but she has _never_ appreciated how much you care about her and everything you’ve done for her.”

Bellamy’s quiet for a moment, but then he swallows and says, shakily, “I know. I never wanted to accept it, but I know. And I think maybe now it’s time to move on.”

She holds onto him for a couple more minutes, and when she lets go he says, “Do you have any alcohol?” She retrieves a bottle of firewhisky which they pass between them while they watch an old black and white muggle movie.

 

Three weeks later he shows up at her flat with scratches on his face, but he’s grinning.

“What now?” she asks, smiling back.

“Wasn’t sure if I needed to go to St. Mungo’s. I had a run-in with a vampire,” he says casually, tilting his head so she can see the massive bite mark on his neck, concealed by his jacket and slowly oozing blood.

“Shit, Bellamy!” she yells, running into the kitchen while he walks in and closes the door behind him, like he’s in no hurry at all.

She grabs her potions kit, finds the bezoar tucked in the bottom, and makes him swallow it while she sits next to him on the couch to mend his wounds. Her hands are shaking slightly.

“You’re lucky I even had that,” she grumbles.

“You’d’ve gotten me to St. Mungo’s in time,” he murmurs back. He’s leaned back against her couch, eyes closed and apparently enjoying her mending his now venom-free neck with stitching charms.

“You know if you keep getting injured so often I’m gonna think you’re doing it just to see me,” she says, echoing her words from a few weeks ago. She was joking last time, but now she kind of means it.

He smiles, eyes still closed. “Fringe benefit.”

Her heart jolts a little. She keeps working.

“All done,” she says a few minutes later, after one last charm to get the blood off him.

“You’re the best, Clarke.”

He finally opens his eyes, and she has to make an effort not to look away from his steady gaze.

“I know.”

“I mean it.” He grabs her hand to emphasize the words.

“Okay.” She squeezes his fingers gently in return.

He pulls a little, until she tumbles closer to him and the eye contact feels like it’s burning. His face is moving closer, inching towards her, when she blurts, “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

 _What the fuck is wrong with you?_ she thinks immediately after.

“Clarke?” he says, a small smile in his voice, “I’m fine.”

“Uh huh,” she mumbles, and then decides to hell with being hopeful and always wondering, and sinks her hands into his hair in invitation. He obliges enthusiastically.

Clarke’s heart soars as they kiss, gentle and tentative at first, then enthusiastic and consuming. She’s been wanting to kiss him since she was fifteen, when he was the nice, cute, older boy who genuinely liked her. But now he’s her best friend and she wants to see him every single day for as long as she can imagine. She climbs into his lap and kisses him harder.

“Will you go to dinner with me sometime?” he asks, breathless, before moving to kiss her neck.

“Like a date?” she asks on the tail-end of a moan.

“Mhmm.”

“I dunno, will you start being more careful with your life on missions?”

He pulls away to glare half-heartedly at her, but her pointed stare doesn’t budge.

He sighs. “If it’s that important to you, yes.”

“Then yes, you can take me to dinner,” she says, leaning into another kiss.

“It’s a good thing I’m already in love with you. Not even on our first date and you’re already making demands.”

She grins against his mouth. “Lucky for you, I feel the same.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is greatly appreciated!


End file.
